w/Doves
Thurs Oct 3, Showbox, $16.50 advance/$18 DOS.

It's not often things happen this way.

Despite a bustling rustle of approval from the open-minded music snobs I most likely find myself in agreement with, I didn't trust that the true snobs were goobing all over My Morning Jacket as well. Sadly, it's become an accepted character flaw that my having to ask what an album is every time I hear it means one of two things: I don't like it or I don't get it. With My Morning Jacket's latest, Chocolate and Ice, it was a case of both. Tall, smart-looking bald people loved it and so did their less aggressive, shaggy-haired equivalents, but to me it just sounded transient and temporary, even though every bar and barbecue I went to last June seemed to have the album in heavy rotation, and it took me a while to remember who exactly it was I was listening to every single time I heard it played. How annoying for all concerned, especially since initially I'd almost managed to remember that, no, it wasn't some new Neil Young collaboration, but still... eh, who is this?

So it was without much expectation of the night's opener that I walked down to the Showbox to see headliner Guided by Voices earlier this summer, but My Morning Jacket were, nonetheless, exactly who ended up kicking my ass the second I entered the club. They sounded anything but transient and temporary, and in fact were the kind of heavy, hairy guitar rock I've managed to find an affinity for most of my life. Meaning--it sounded leaden, sodden, and sharp. Treacherous, but soft and murky at the same time, and absolutely beautiful in its balanced composition. To see it performed by a healthy-looking bunch of me-un from Louisville, KY, made it all the more perfect, as I'm nothing if not a sucker for big boys from the South who make delicate use of their tools of expression while still managing to knock your socks off. Especially when they cover "Black Sabbath" masterfully. I was an instant fan.

But goddamnit if I didn't get cornered backstage by a band member who wanted to give me a copy of the record because he faultlessly assumed that if I was so freshly blown away by their performance, I probably hadn't heard the album. Tactful as always (ahem), I said I had. Soon the small room seemed to be swarming with big boys with lots of hair and toes sticking out of their sandals, and I'm certain that my sweaty response and torpid exit was uncomfortable at least for me. I left with a new copy of Chocolate and Ice in my handbag with a solemn promise to give it another go.

And I only like it a little more these days (the whiffs of Steve Miller cannot be excised from the 24-minute, mostly instrumental epic "Cobra"), but my devotion is still strong because, as I started off saying ages ago, it's not often that a band gives you a stern shake live when they did no such thing with their recorded introduction. We're all mortifyingly familiar with the opposite, as no matter how good a record is, that's not a fail-safe barometer of recommendation for a show. Sebadoh, anyone? Come on and be honest.

Singer and main visionary Jim James has found a perfect balance between his lofty artistry and his band's grounded performance, making everyone happy in the return. But you already knew that. If you like Luna (especially the new album) and Ozzy, and I know you do, then the folks who will be introduced to My Morning Jacket by way of tonight's headliner, the Doves, will soon be in step with Chocolate and Ice's cool, and at times sweetly romantic... uh, hmmm, of course I get it now. Think of it like the chocolate soda pop you used to drink as a kid. It seems kinda thin and a little unright, but it feels much more bold going down than regular old pop, tastes delicious, and unlike a milkshake, rejuvenates and refreshes in a way that is almost altogether lost these days.